


Loyalty Outtakes

by grey_gazania



Series: Loyalty [2]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Cultural Differences, Easterlings, First Age Easterlings, Gen, Languages and Linguistics, the piped tags are a mess and I refuse to use them
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-13
Updated: 2015-07-18
Packaged: 2018-04-09 04:17:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4333545
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey_gazania/pseuds/grey_gazania
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Short scenes that didn't make it into <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/4270329/chapters/9669633">Loyalty</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It Will Be a Long Trip; He Will Be a New Chief

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by William Stafford and by the [Silmfic Prompt Generator](http://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/birthday10/story-generator.php): preservation vs. change. Set after Chapter 5 of [Loyalty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4270329/chapters/9669633).

He makes himself busy that night, bringing beans and blankets to the hungry and cold, making certain that his people all have enough. All the while he thinks on his meeting with the Elf, thinks on what Nâr has told him, thinks on his conversation with his son. He cannot rest, not with these thoughts racing in his mind, and he sits up till the sun creeps over the mountains, sits up alone and troubled.

He brought his people here for a better life. The land is lush and green and open, good for farming, and many miles and a rocky wall now lie between them and their enemies. If the Elf lets them stay, they will prosper, he's sure of it. But there are other Men here, Nâr says, pale ones who serve the Elves and speak their language, worship their gods and use their names. His own son and heir has already taken on the Elvish names that Nâr taught them, casting aside the name his mother gave him when he reached manhood.

 _Ulfang._ He doesn't like his own new name, can barely pronounce it, but it seems that he'll have to use it if he wishes to please the Elves. But if he surrenders his name, what will be next? His language? He's already studying the Elves' tongue. His gods? Will the Elves insist that he turn away from those who have blessed him, blessed his family, blessed his people? He brought his people here for a better life, but will they have to give up who they are to claim it?

He doesn't know. The spirit might be able to offer guidance, but though he waits for it all night, it never appears.


	2. Mother Tongue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set after Chapter 7 of [Loyalty](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4270329/chapters/9833885) and inspired by the [Silmfic Prompt Generator](http://www.silmarillionwritersguild.org/birthday10/story-generator.php): ‘The past is a foreign country. They do things differently there.’ -L.P. Hartley, 'The Go-Between’.

“What do you think?“ I asked Maitimo afterwards, as we supped in private.

I spoke in Quenya, as I always did when alone with my brothers. For all that I never spoke it with anyone else and spent most of my days speaking Sindarin, I found that I still _thought_ in Quenya. I definitely still dreamed in it. And my brothers would always bear their Quenya names in my mind, even Pityo and Telvo, who both preferred Sindarin. _Quenya belongs in Valinor, Caranthir,_ Telvo had said with a scowl the last time I’d called him by his mother-name. _Things are different here. Stop living in the past._

Stop living in the past. Surrender to Thingol’s wishes. Give up the language in which my mother sang me to sleep, the language of my wedding vows, the language of our father’s Oath.

No. Telvo could become one with the Laiquendi if he liked, but I was a Noldo, and I would stay that way.

"It’s delicious,” Maitimo said, nodding approvingly and taking another spoonful of soup.

I rolled my eyes. “You know what I meant, Nelyo,” I said, and he grinned at me. Most people saw only the grim, strong-willed lord when they looked at him, but I knew my brother. He’d had as much a hand in raising me as our parents had and, despite what he had suffered, he was still the same idiot who loved to gently tweak his little brothers’ tails.

“I think they were a little hesitant to swear fealty,” he said, more seriously.

“But they did swear,” I pointed out. “And swore honestly, I think.” At least, I had sensed no deception in Bór’s words, and I had always been well-attuned to such things.

“If you think so,” Maitimo said. “I trust you.”

I stirred my soup, considering. “What I can’t suss out,” I said, “is the relationship between their Houses. They act separate. They have different leaders, different camps – I’m not Atar, but I _think_ they may even have slightly different languages. And yet Ulfang seems to have some sway over Bór. I can’t tell if they’re allies, sister clans…” I shrugged. “And Nâr hasn’t given me a proper explanation.”

“You don’t like him.”

“I don’t like most people,” I said, flashing Maitimo a crooked smile. “But that aside, you’re right. I don’t like Nâr. He’s slippery. And the Naugrim are hard to read in general.”

“Like I said, I trust you,” he repeated. “But the girl did well. I doubt you’ll have to deal with him much longer.”

“I hope not,” I said, and took another mouthful of soup.


End file.
